"I didn’t do anything," Daniel forced out, through gritted teeth.
"Sure," said Flo. "Not this time. Not in a way that’d get you caught."
"So this is supposed to be some kind of twisted justice."
"Sure. However you want to think about it." Flo rolled her head to the side until a vertebra popped. "Doesn’t matter to me, one way or the other."
"Clearly," I said.
Flo laughed, turning and starting to walk away from us. "If you were about half as smart as you think you are, you would have figured out by now that I didn’t do this for fun."
Daniel took a step forward. "What does that mean?" he called over her.
Flo stopped, but didn’t turn around. "I’m not supposed to say," she replied. "But, hey. What the hell. I already cashed my paycheck." She turned, coming back towards us. "That’s a metaphor, I was paid in unmarked bills. It was very James Bond. They don’t call it corporate espionage for nothing."
"They don’t call it ‘investment fraud’ for nothing," Daniel corrected her. "You’re going to jail, Florence, is there any part of your mind that comprehends that fact?"
"Do you want to know who hired me, or what?" Flo was starting to look irritated. "I was planning on being in Rio de Janeiro by now, so you’re kind of f**king with my itinerary."
"Someone hired you?" I repeated.
"Yes," she replied, irritated. "It was supposed to work as a red herring, and I gotta say, it was pretty goddamn good, wasn’t it? You never suspected for a second." She tittered. "But I guess they underestimated my burning desire to let you guys know just how wrong you are about everything."
"They?" Daniel said, taking a threatening step towards her. She giggled again.
"Your old friends," she said. "Do I really have to spell it out?"
I blinked. Daniel looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
"Wait," I said. "That doesn’t make sense."
Flo raised an eyebrow at me. "Doesn’t it?"
I was shaking my head. "No," I said, more firmly and calmly than anything I’d said up until that point, because for once I had the upper hand. "I know for a fact that you didn’t meet with the plaintiffs from the old lawsuit until well after all of this happened. So whoever bankrolled this from the beginning…was either you, or somebody you’re not telling us about."
Flo made a face. "Fine. It was close enough to the truth. But if you think I’m spoon-feeding you any more than that, you’re nuts."
Daniel was looking from one to the other of us, completely slack-jawed. I realized I hadn’t exactly kept him in the loop about my own personal investigation; no wonder he was confused. Oh well, I could catch him up later.
In a moment, two things happened simultaneously - Daniel started reaching into his jacket pocket, presumably for his phone, and Flo’s hand snaked into her purse as she snapped:
"No. Drop it."
I had to blink a few times before my brain processed what I was seeing, in the darkness. Flo had a gun. And it was trained on Daniel.
Daniel raised his hands, slowly, dropping the phone and letting it clatter to the concrete. Flo started walking backwards, her aim unwavering. I felt like there was ice water in my veins, and there was absolutely nothing I could do besides stand there and watch as she disappeared into the darkness.
As soon as she was gone, Daniel retrieved the pieces of his phone and began to walk briskly in the other direction. I followed, already dialing 911 on my own phone as I jogged after him.
It was difficult to explain to the operator, especially as out-of-breath and shaking from adrenaline as I was, but once I mentioned the name a few times they sent a car in pursuit and asked us to come down to the station. We spent a few surreal hours under the flickering fluorescent lights, clutching our instant coffee and trying to explain what the hell was going on. I had to take the lead most of the time, and I could feel Daniel’s eyes fixed on me intently as I slowly admitted all the things I’d known about, all the things I’d done without telling him. But even when we were left alone, all he did was rest his arm on my shoulders or gently caress the back of my neck with his fingers. I supposed after being held at gunpoint, anything I’d done barely even registered on the "minor betrayal" scale.
They called Kelly down after a while, and she came promptly, looking no more unkempt than she had when we met, despite it being the middle of the night. She shook Daniel’s hand while attempting a smile in my direction. "I’m not going to say ’I told you so,’" she deadpanned.
"I appreciate everything you’ve done for us," he said, as she collapsed in a chair. "Even if I didn’t exactly…know about it until today."
"You’re welcome," said Kelly. "I have to admit, most spouses don’t take this kind of news so well, in my experience." She sipped at her coffee, thoughtfully. "Then again, that might be because I mostly handle infidelity cases."
Daniel let out a little snort of laughter, and I found myself laughing too.
After we’d gone every everything with three different officers what felt like a thousand times, I was pretty sure all we’d done was thoroughly confuse everyone. They kept informing us that the insider trading issue was a pending federal investigation, no matter how many times we said we already knew. The captain kept shaking his head and saying he’d have to SEC, or maybe the FBI, and then he finally let us all go home.
The gray dawn light was just beginning to creep over the city as we shuffled, bleary-eyed, through the streets. Once we all remembered that we hadn’t eaten since lunch, we all sat in a diner for a while, filling out stomachs with greasy food until we’d unwound enough to yawn our way home.
I barely remembered most of the drive back. I could only hope that Daniel was more alert; we made it home without incident, at least, so he must have been in better shape than I was.
I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
***
I woke up with a start. The clock said 2:36 PM.
I had been thinking - or dreaming - I wasn’t sure which, really, but after going through every single detail of this nightmare with the police, there were two things that still didn’t sit right with me. Number one, the hostile judge. Number two, if Brewer were really telling the truth about how Flo and the plaintiffs from the old lawsuit met, how did the whole thing start? Was it her idea, and hers alone? If so, where did she get the money?
I sat down with a notepad and pen, and started to write. I had to just get my thoughts out of my head somehow, no matter how ridiculous they might be.
First of all, there was the judge. Even Ms. Greenlee, who seemed to know him personally, was shocked by his behavior. He didn’t normally conduct himself in that way. So what was it about this case that had put him in such a mood?
Judicial bias was a serious accusation, I knew. If I wanted to pursue this, I was going to need some serious evidence. But it was no more than a whim at this point, so much so that I hesitated to even tell Kelly about it. Where would she even start?
I drummed my fingers on the table for a while. Of course, most of a judge’s life would be a matter of public record. I could conduct my own investigation. And if I didn’t find anything, well, I didn’t find anything. But if I did…
I shook my head. What did I think I was going to find, exactly? Any bias would have to be on paper for me to prove it, and the far likelier scenario - that he simply didn’t like Daniel - wasn’t exactly a punishable offense. But there was something there. A hunch I just couldn’t shake.
And then, there was the question of who exactly started this whole mess. As much as I wanted to think Flo was the mastermind of it all, she seemed a little too…unstable. Then again, when we’d worked together, she’d managed to convince me that she was normal.
I chewed on the end of my pen, finally pulling out my phone and typing in the judge’s name. As I’d suspected, there was a sea of results - from elections, news blurbs, and everything else under the sun. It was an impressive array of information - everything about his family, his background, his voting record from when he was in congress - which I’m sure would have been vastly helpful, if only I could figure out if it meant anything.
Just when my eyes were starting to glaze over, something jumped out at me. I’d probably glossed over it a hundred times, but for some reason, this time it stuck.
Member of the University of Dartwood Alumni Association
Daniel had gone to Dartwood.
And so, by extension, had the plaintiffs in the old lawsuit.
It was probably a coincidence. It almost had to be, but for some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it mattered. If the judge had some prior connection with the other plaintiffs, or even some prior knowledge of the case, it could be enough to sour him on Daniel forever.
I didn’t know enough about the legal precedents to be sure if this was enough to prove a serious breach of judicial ethics, but I figured it must be enough to at least get us reassigned with a new judge, if nothing else. That was, if I could demonstrate any more meaningful connection than all of them simply having gone to the same college.
Daniel finally shuffled out of bed a few hours later, raking his hand through his hair and thumbing blearily through his collection of takeout menus. I realized my stomach was growling.
"Any requests?" he wanted to know.
"Anything." I waited until he’d gotten off the phone with the Greek place up the street, then gestured for him to come sit down. He did, glancing at me sidelong.
"Look," I said. "There’s this thing about the judge. I know you didn’t want to pursue it, but…"
He sighed. "All right, all right. What?"
"He went to Dartwood. Did you know that?"
Daniel rested his elbows on the island, turning to look at me with an expression of measured patience. "Lots of people go to Dartwood, Maddy."
"Yeah, well, not that many. He’s active in the alumni association. It’s not outside of the realm of possibility that he might have met those guys who tried to sue you, about the prototype."
We hadn’t discussed this yet, in so many words. It had come up at the police station, and his face now looked the same as it had then, and on our honeymoon when Brewer had brought it up. Something closed off in his eyes. He wasn’t going to discuss it. The matter simply wasn’t on the table.
"I’m just saying," I went on. "We don’t have to talk about that situation at all if you don’t want to, but I think we probably shouldn’t just…dismiss this whole thing. The way he acted with you…I just don’t think it was a coincidence, is all."
He was playing with an empty wrapper from something. I had no idea where he’d gotten it from. "Why don’t you consult with your detective?" he asked. "You never needed my permission before."
I looked at him carefully, but I couldn’t quite detect the bitterness that I expected.